


Dance, Dance, Dance, to the Radio

by VoteForNuke



Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [11]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, sappy and short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoteForNuke/pseuds/VoteForNuke
Summary: A story of not sleeping on a concussion and dancing to 60s music.
Relationships: Big Boss/Kazuhira Miller
Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884223
Kudos: 16





	Dance, Dance, Dance, to the Radio

“Stop messing with that.” 

Snake dropped his hand from the stitches. They would across his shoulder blade, over his shoulder, resting perfectly on the bone so they pulled when he moved. “Itches.” He muttered. His voice still felt distant, somehow underwater. That medic had hit him with a dart of morphine, really knocked him on his ass. Kaz excused it as needing to keep him still. He’d been wiggling, apparently, knocked silly by the blast. 

“Just ignore it.” Was Kaz’s genius advice. Just ignore it. Ignore what? The itch, or everything else? He felt like he was on a boat, rocking and rocking and rocking with the tide. The rush of rain against the tin roof didn’t help the illusion. Like a keel cutting the waves. Swish swish swish.

“Wanna sleep.” Snake rubbed at his eye, warding away the burning.

“You have a concussion.” Kaz looked over his book. The cover was nice. It was bright blue, orange and red numbers stacked on top of each other, yellow letters boasting the title. Something Snake couldn’t make out at that distance. Probably about economics or budgeting, whatever Kaz was into. “Here.” Kaz reached over his head to click on the radio. A Spanish broadcast rang in Snake’s ears, somehow worsening that waterlogged sensation. No. That wasn’t it. It felt like it was ringing in his teeth. 

Snake groaned, shifting on his cot. He didn’t know how people did this for fun. ‘Getting high’ just made him feel like shit. It reminded him of sleep deprivation, loopy and off balance; the come down was worse. Now he just felt uncomfortable. He shifted again, then again, then once more––-

“Snake.” Kaz rubbed at his temple. It was nice of him to volunteer for watch, not leave Snake to the medics. He’d dragged his own cot into the shack, pressed it between the rotten table and the foot of Snake’s own cot. At first, they had attempted conversation. Snake hadn’t really been able to provide that much in terms of quality responses. After the sun had set, Kaz had been content to loudly flip through his book and hum and ‘aha!’ to himself. 

“Time is it?” Snake asked between clenched teeth. The broadcast was really rattling them. 

With a sigh, Kaz checked his wrist. “Two in the morning.” 

Probably why he wasn’t in such a great mood. Snake leaned back against the wall since he wasn’t allowed to lay down. His own eye was heavy and achingly dry. The distant memory of Kaz’s eyes drifted through the haze. He could remember being flat on his back, Kaz screaming over him but no words coming through. The only sensation was his own slow breathing, and his only worry was how Kaz’s glasses slipped down his face, revealing his pale, pale eyes. 

“Snake!” Kaz was in his face again, hand on his good shoulder. Through his lashes, Snake was almost startled to see his glasses, see his skin clean of dirt and specks of blood. Just a moment ago they had been––-“Come on, get to your feet.” 

“Tired.” Snake resisted, pulling his arm from Kaz’s grip. 

“If you fall asleep, you might not wake up.” Kaz grabbed him again, pulling him up with an almost surprising force. Snake was a net of sea salmon in his arms, sinking back into the ocean. “Ugh, Christ–-Snake! Come on, put your feet under you!”

“Gonna throw up.” Snake’s good arm clung to Kaz, his bare feet scrambling against the floor. 

“No, you’re not.” Kaz steadied him, pulling him against his chest, and suddenly, the spinning eased off. He was in Kaz’s arms, and Kaz was in his. The broadcast was soft, mixing with the rain. The sick twisting in his stomach faded when Kaz’s arms sank down to his waist, then tightened. 

“You scared the shit out of me, today.” For the first time in the night, his voice sounded tired. 

Snake wished he could say the same. Death wasn’t as intimidating as it had been ten years ago. It seemed less of a drop into an abyss, cold and endless, more of a rest in a dark place. Comfort sitting at the end of aches and aches and aches. It was only after  _ Her…. _ passing that he realized that. Only in the autumn of ‘64 did he welcome the idea of a fit rest, of no more starts in the night or tossing and turning. Just rest, endless rest. 

“Snake,” Kaz turned his head, nose brushing Snake’s neck. The broadcast ended, replaced by a tune. Lively, but soft. 

_ ‘They say we’re young and we don’t know,’  _

“I love this song.” Snake said, and Kaz turned his head back, listening intently over the rain. 

“Sonny and Cher?” He asked, then a smile cracked across his lips. “You wanna dance?” 

Snake realized he was swaying. Swaying with Kaz in his arms. How romantic. “It’ll keep me awake.” 

Kaz just smiled at him and mouthed along. 

_ ‘Babe. I got you, babe. I got you, babe.’  _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
